At noon, he jolted awake to a sharp, searing pain in his leg. The wound had worsened... swelling badly, the skin hot and tender to the touch. Infection had already begun its work. He gritted his teeth and dragged himself toward the riverbank, using the flow of water to wash away the grime and dried blood. Whether the water carried filth or not, he didn't care. One path guaranteed infection, the other only risked it, and for him, risk and luck were the same meaningless thing. He had already decided.
He would boil it.
He searched the riverside by touch, stacking dry twigs, feeling for stones, arranging them with mechanical precision. The memories of how he knew these things were gone, but his hands moved as if remembering for him. Every motion was efficient, seemingly trained... his body acting on something older than thought. He heated a flat stone until it hissed, steam rising when he dripped water over it.
He searched for herbs too and feeling along trunks, sniffing leaves, tracing shapes with his fingers... But every scent and texture was foreign. His instincts told him nothing. He might have once known what to look for, but that knowledge was buried deep. And in this strange wilderness, guessing could mean death.
"This won't do... I guess I'll just have to endure with this pain."
He chose certainty over gamble. Fire over faith. Pain over poison.
"Even if there's something out here that can heal me," he murmured through clenched teeth, "it's useless if I pick the wrong one."
He pressed the heated cloth against his leg. The flesh sizzled, the smell of burnt skin filled the air, and his body trembled. But he didn't scream. The pain was proof that he was still in control. That the infection hadn't won. When it was done, he loosened his grip, trembling, and leaned back on the cold earth.
The faint breeze from the river brushed against his sweat-soaked face. The boiling stone crackled softly beside him. His breath came heavy, ragged but steady. The pain remained, but now it was clean. Controlled. Endurable.
But even with all this, it only cleansed the surface... washing away dirt and lessening the infection, nothing more.
"Heh... This only helped me alleviate some Infections and symptoms..."
He knew it wasn't enough. A fever would come, perhaps worse. His instincts screamed it, a primal warning echoing inside his skull. Then, for a moment, something stirred within him... Like a shadow crawling up from his chest into his thoughts. A presence. The same cold emptiness he felt when he broke down beside the river... and when that bloodlust once surged through him.
He quickly forced himself calm. The last thing he needed was to lose control again. Without proof, he could only assume it was tied to that strange ability of his... The same one that sharpened his senses and dulled his pain. He pushed the thought aside and focused back on his injured leg.
Death felt close. With no proper treatment, and the fever already creeping behind his skin, it was only a matter of time. The air had grown heavy too, he could feel the weight of humidity pressing on his lungs. Rain. It was coming. Judging from the damp earth and the day-long dryness before, he concluded it would fall soon... And when it did, with the fever and open wound, it would surely kill him.
He made a vow, low and steady at first, then harder until it shook the air. "Before I die, I will at least make it pay. I will not let that thing keep me running in circles. I will drag it down with me!" Revenge tasted like iron in his mouth.
"Hahahahaha!"
Then he laughed. It began as a small sound and grew into something wild and bright, the laugh of a child playing a cruel game. It sounded wrong in the quiet forest, too bright for the dirt and blood and pain that clung to him. The image of the monster chasing its own tail struck him as absurd and beautiful all at once, and he laughed until his ribs ached.
Only after the sound faded did he realize how hollow it felt. This was not entirely him. The surge of bloodlust, the reckless glee—those moments of feral clarity were slipping into him like water into a cracked cup. He could feel something watching from the edges of his mind, nudging, shaping his thoughts.
He forced himself back. He breathed in slow, practiced breaths, pressed his palm to his chest, and felt the steady beat there that he had trained to trust. The childish laughter vanished, replaced by a calm that was all calculation and steel. He closed his eyes and said the vow again, quiet this time, a promise sharpened into focus. Then he stood and moved on, every step deliberate, every sense tuned to the hunt.
---
After hours of scavenging and silent observation, he finally found what he was looking for... A deep fall. The air shifted near the edge, colder and emptier, hinting at a vast drop below.
"Hmmm...", looking down as if he's seeing it with his blinded eyes. "As expected." Feeling the quality of the air a while back, he had already inferred that the existence of cliff's more plausible than a ravine.
Still... he wasn't sure, but the difference mattered. A ravine would echo sharply, the sound bouncing between stone walls; a cliff with forest below would swallow the noise in a muffled thud. All he needed was to listen to know which one would become his weapon.
He crouched, feeling the edge with his fingers, soil crumbling under his touch. He picked a hand-sized stone and let it go, closing his eyes to sharpen his ears. The fall whispered down into the dark. He counted the seconds with the steady patience of someone who measured life in beats and tremors.
Three... two... one... then a faint, dull thud returned to him, muffled by leaves and branches, about three and two thirds of a second after he released the stone. The sound was not the sharp echo of a stone bouncing between rock walls. It was a wet, swallowed thump. He breathed out, a small smile ghosting his lips. "Deep enough, about 60 meters deep. This place is really high up as expected."
He etched the place into his mind with eerie precision... The sound, the humidity, the subtle tilt of the ground, even the rhythm of the breeze brushing past his skin. Remembering came to him easily, almost unnaturally so, as if his mind refused to forget what could keep him alive.
With that, he turned back, dragging himself toward the riverbank he now called home. The weight of exhaustion pressed heavy on his shoulders, yet he moved with purpose. When he finally reached the familiar flow of water, he sat down beneath the shade and bit into the fruits he'd gathered.
Munch! Munch! Munch!
The taste was sour, bitter even, but to him, it might as well have been a feast. He chewed slowly, savoring every bite like it was his last meal.
As he chewed, his mind wandered... Not in peace, but in a spiral of thought that never seemed to end. Every movement of his body, every reaction, every plan that came so naturally to him… none of it felt new. It was as if he'd done all of this before, countless times.
Why do I know how to survive? He thought. Why do I know how long sound takes to travel, how to test for poison, how to control pain? The questions circled his mind like vultures, feeding on the silence. He felt no fear, only curiosity laced with unease. Perhaps he was trained. Perhaps he was made.
I think...
That word again, one that slipped out from somewhere deep in his mind: made. He didn't understand it, yet it carried weight, a sense of design, of purpose. Was he born to survive, or created for it? And if he truly was made… then for what? His grip on the half-eaten fruit tightened as a faint tremor ran down his arm. Whatever the answer was, it was buried somewhere in the dark corners of his missing memories... He wasn't sure if he wanted to uncover it.
---
After that brief reflection, practicality took over once more. He set aside the fruit remnants and began gathering small twigs and dried leaves, feeling their textures carefully before tossing them into the small pit he had carved earlier. Starting a fire was easier this time; his hands moved with calm precision, guided by muscle memory rather than sight.
The faint crackle of burning wood filled the quiet air, and soon he was boiling water again.
"Ahh!"
He winced as he poured the warm water over his injured leg, the heat biting into the swelling flesh, yet offering a strange relief. Using a smooth, hollowed stone as a makeshift bowl, he scooped and poured water across his arms and torso. It wasn't a bath... Just enough to wash off the grime, sweat, and faint traces of blood. The water trickled down his skin and into the soil, carrying with it the scent of dirt and exhaustion. For a brief moment, it almost felt like renewal.
After cleaning himself, he settled down beneath the broad shade of a tree. The ground was cool, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and burnt wood. He leaned his back against the trunk, feeling the faint pulse of life that throbbed through it. His leg still ached, and the faint steam from the extinguished fire mingled with his steady breaths.
He closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to conserve strength. The forest was calm again — deceptively so. Every sound, every rustle, every hum of life beyond the trees sank into his sharpened mind. He would wait. Wait for the moons to rise, for the night to cloak his scent, for the monster to move again.
Because tonight, he would no longer run. "I can see everything!"
And then... He smirked faintly, whispering to himself, "The prey… will hunt its hunter."
As his breathing slowed and his mind drifted between wakefulness and sleep, the forest dimmed in rhythm with his heart. Above the canopy, the twin silver moons began their slow ascent, their glow spilling through the leaves like silent witnesses. They watched from afar... Cold, distant, and unwavering, marking the passage of time. Each inch they climbed into the heavens was another second stolen from the monster's life.
---
Midnight came.
He stirred awake, not by sound or dream, but by an unspoken rhythm within him... As though a silent clock had struck the hour. Tonight would decide everything. Either I perish… or we both will. Either way, it was a victory in his eyes.
Gripping the stick that had stood by him through pain and survival, he rose to his feet. The faint rush of the river echoed behind him... Gentle, familiar, almost pleading. He turned to it one last time, the cool breeze brushing his dirt-streaked face.
"This is goodbye," he murmured, voice barely above the whisper of leaves.
Then, step by step, he walked toward the heart of the forest... Toward the monster's den, leaving behind the only place that had ever felt remotely like peace.
As the night matured and the twin moons danced across the sky like playful siblings, he made his way back to where the chase had begun... A prey returning to its origin, driven out once before. With each careful step deeper into the forest, he sensed the signs ahead: trees felled, ground churned into chaos, massive footprints carved into the earth, an unmistakable evidence of the monster's passage.
He focused every ounce of his sharpened senses, straining to locate the creature. It's likely hunting, active and hungry like how I encountered it that night.
Pushing further into the heart of the destruction, he settled into a cross-legged stance, forcing his mind and body to extremes to detect the faintest vibrations and scents. A blinding headache flared, and a thin trickle of blood ran from his nose, but he ignored it. Tonight would decide everything. This was the final day.
Finally! I finally found you!
After a minute of maintaining this state, his effort paid off. A faint, almost imperceptible sound reached him from roughly six hundred meters to the north, small, weak, yet unmistakable. He had finally located his hunter.
As he pushed himself to rise, a harsh cough tore through him, spewing a handful of blood.
"Ah..."
A thin trickle ran from his nose, and he felt the sting of crimson forming in the corners of his eyes. He ignored the pain, swallowed back the nausea, and pressed onward in the direction of the monster.
---
By the time he closed in to around two hundred meters, each step felt heavier than the last. His injured leg protested, but he moved with careful precision, gripping the strips of torn cloth he had prepared. Soon, there was nothing left covering his body except for his lower half. He crouched slightly, attuning every sense to the vibrations and faint noises the monster made as it prowled aimlessly.
He already knew that the creature had no intellect, only hunger, blindly seeking anything to devour. The forest floor bore the evidence of its desperation... Small nibbles in bark, crushed undergrowth, and even vomit. It seemed the monster had tried eating trees themselves, a clear sign of the relentless hunger driving its erratic, mindless search.
He tore the last strips of cloth and tied each one to a hand-sized stone. It was all he had left, enough to lay a ring of bait leading to the place he had chosen for the final confrontation. He crept forward until the distance closed to a hundred meters. The monster had not noticed him. For reasons he could not name, its sense of smell seemed duller than before, and that weakness gave him the nerve to move closer.
He had already calculated his throw. A hand-sized stone reached about forty-five meters by his estimate. That was just inside the range the creature could pick up scent if the cloth carried his trail. He tested angles and arcs using plain rocks, listening for the sound and feeling the tiny vibrations underfoot to ensure branches would not catch the stones. The noise did not matter. The beast hunted by smell, not by sound. After several careful trials, the perfect spot and angle revealed themselves to him like the last piece of a puzzle. He paused, tasting the air, then set the first cloth-wrapped stone in place, the first mark in a deadly circle.
The first bait landed true. For a heartbeat, nothing happened—then a low tremor rippled through the ground. The monster stirred. Slowly at first, then with growing urgency as instinct dragged its bulk toward the scent. He could hear it now, each sluggish step sending faint vibrations through the soil.
Slower than before…? he thought. A faint crease formed between his brows. Was it injured… from the start?
The idea lingered for only a moment. He didn't have the luxury to dwell on it. Every second counted. Moving with careful haste, he slipped through the underbrush, following his preplanned route. The next stone was tied, scented, and thrown, then another, and another! Each toss brought the creature closer!!
Soon, only three hundred meters remained until the cliff. The trap was forming, silent and inevitable, and with each careful movement, the night itself seemed to hold its breath.
Then, suddenly, his arm locked in place, trembling violently as if it had a mind of its own. A sickening, unnatural stretch ran through it... Bones bending, muscles contorting, skin twisting in ways that made his stomach lurch.
"ARGHHHHHHH!!!"
His breath caught in his throat. Panic clawed at him, but somewhere beneath it, instinct screamed: Cut it off, now, or lose everything.
Pain erupted like fire through his nerves, sharper than anything he had ever endured, a white-hot agony that threatened to shatter him completely. Yet, in the chaos, the familiar, almost alien power surged. His heartbeat slowed unnaturally, pupils widening, senses sharpening to a brutal clarity. The world sharpened into terrifying precision: every sound, every vibration, every shift of the forest floor, every tremor in the air.
The mutating arm writhed, grotesque and alien, a traitor inside his own body. He gritted his teeth, gripped his sharpened stick like a lifeline, and pressed down against the firm stone beneath him. As the first puncture to his flesh, blood gushed out in streams of sanguine color, he has penetrated his skin, but the muscles, nerves and bone was still left!
He didn't stop, he focused all of his strength and now pierce through his muscles, the pain from his mutation added with him forcefully tearing his muscles apart, he nearly fainted even with the effect of his strange ability, what felt forever was only seconds!
He regained focused as his muscles was torn apart like busted rope, next he aimed for his nerves, arguably, the most painful way to torture someone. But he has no choice! Either he dies to the monster or he died trying, it's clear what he would choose! He breathed in and stroked again!
Squelch!
He didn't have eyes, but he instinctively knew his nerves has been severed, like a root of a tree being sawed by a dull saw!
The pain was beyond this world as he didn't even have a chance to scream,
He repeated the same actions again to his bones! A hard bone, multiple hits, more pain, means less time left!
As his bone was left into fragments either borrowing away in his flesh or lying on the ground, he didn't care the pain screamed through him, but the instinctive precision of survival took over.
In a moment that felt like an eternity, he severed the appendage. The world shuddered with the echo of his action, and for a fleeting instant, the forest itself seemed to recoil.
Silence fell. The arm was gone. His body shook violently, adrenaline and shock wrestling inside him, but something deeper had awakened... An unflinching resolve, cold and inhuman, that whispered incomprehensible things.
"I don't.... Have time... To deal..."
Huff! Huff! Huff!
He tore the last remnants of his lower-body cloth, wrapping the severed arm with practiced precision, as if he had done this countless times before. Clarity returned, sharp and unflinching. He rose to his feet, balancing on his injured leg, gripping the bloody, makeshift stick with his remaining arm.
Pain still radiated through him, but it no longer held him back. He measured the distance to the monster and the cliff in his mind. Three hundred meters separated him from the drop, while the creature lurched forward, roughly sixty meters away, moving slowly but relentlessly. Every step it took sent faint tremors through the ground, and he could feel them all. Time was running out, and the hunt was about to reach its climax.
He bit down on his severed arm, refusing to let the sacrifice be wasted, gripping it tightly with his teeth. His remaining arm steadied the stick that supported his weight as he advanced, each step measured, each movement precise. At last, he reached the edge of the cliff. Carefully, he placed the arm on the part of the ground most likely to give way, specifically, the part he surveyed the first time coming here, the trap set exactly as he had planned.
Hiding behind a rock just a few meters from the edge, he watched. The monster was twenty meters away now, its massive form moving with blind, unthinking hunger. Every tremor through the soil, every subtle shift in air and scent, was clear to him. All that was left was to wait.
The ground quaked as the monster rushed toward the scent of blood, each step shaking the forest floor. The earth groaned beneath its weight, soil cracking, roots tearing apart. He could feel the tremors even from behind the rock, could sense the cliff edge beginning to give way.
A deafening roar echoed as the creature lunged forward... And then, a thunderous snap.
The earth split open.
The monster's massive body lurched, claws scraping helplessly against the breaking ledge before gravity claimed it whole.
Its fall tore through the silence.
Sixty meters down, the forest waited. The canopy of trees that once cushioned his descent now turned against the beast... Sharp branches impaling through flesh, piercing deep, splattering crimson across the leaves. The sound of cracking bone and shattering wood reverberated through the chasm until, finally, there was nothing.
He listened.
No movement. No breath. No heartbeat.
Only the hollow whisper of rain beginning to fall.
A faint smile crept across his face. His pitiful goal... This childish vengeance .... Was finally done. The prey had devoured its hunter.
He stood there for a long moment, the scent of rain and blood mingling in the air, before whispering to himself, his voice trembling yet firm.
"Even if my death is near… I want to choose how I die. I won't let the world decide how. I won't. Never!"
He hesitated, just for a heartbeat. Then, with a final, quiet resolve, he looked toward the abyss and muttered his last words.
"I'll see you… whatever comes after, you monster."
He stepped forward.
The wind roared past his ears as he descended, his stick still clutched tightly in his hand, the rain washing over his face.
The twin moons watched silently from above as the forest held its breath.
Then came the sound... Soft, distant, yet resounding across the night.
Thud.
And silence reclaimed the forest, only to be swallowed by the heavy downpour.